Learning to Connect with Students by Connecting with Self
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| Title: | Learning to Connect with Students by Connecting with Self |
|---|---|
| Language: | English |
| Authors: | John Burrell |
| Source: | Schools: Studies in Education. 2025 22(1):144-158. |
| Availability: | University of Chicago Press. Journals Division, P.O. Box 37005, Chicago, IL 60637. Tel: 877-705-1878; Tel: 773-753-3347; Fax: 877-705-1879; Fax: 773-753-0811; e-mail: subscriptions@press.uchicago.edu; Web site: http://www.press.uchicago.edu |
| Peer Reviewed: | Y |
| Page Count: | 15 |
| Publication Date: | 2025 |
| Document Type: | Journal Articles Reports - Descriptive |
| Education Level: | Grade 9 High Schools Junior High Schools Middle Schools Secondary Education |
| Descriptors: | Teacher Student Relationship, Grade 9, Summer Programs, Study Skills, Teaching Methods, Professional Identity, Barriers |
| DOI: | 10.1086/734964 |
| ISSN: | 1550-1175 2153-0327 |
| Abstract: | Drawing inspiration from Parker Palmer and John Dewey, this essay explores the author's journey of learning to connect with his ninth-grade students in a summer study skills class. Using the metaphor of an "undercarriage," the author reflects on how he strengthened his capacity to endure classroom challenges. Through experimentation with new approaches, the author discovers a "third way" between rigid control and passive acceptance, ultimately reframing his teaching identity. The author concludes that such identity work cannot be achieved in isolation but requires the support of colleagues, particularly in times of struggle. The author's experience offers insights into the challenges educators may face when striving to create more authentic and effective learning environments. |
| Abstractor: | As Provided |
| Entry Date: | 2025 |
| Accession Number: | EJ1475632 |
| Database: | ERIC |
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| FullText | Links: – Type: pdflink Url: https://content.ebscohost.com/cds/retrieve?content=AQICAHj0k_4E0hTGH8RJwT4gCJyBsGNe_WN95AvKlDbXJGqwxwEnQ00jhot3wHi2JCcBXFJdAAAA4zCB4AYJKoZIhvcNAQcGoIHSMIHPAgEAMIHJBgkqhkiG9w0BBwEwHgYJYIZIAWUDBAEuMBEEDBmqxNZZRLlLgcQ6WgIBEICBm8ApnOZjg55WAtnp5A6tLcIEk9Nqi7IxyhN5Q5B4_ZR-6yzq5zeRggeeW-iLcbeDSJYjOtwZ82VO8gbJdpABN6PHLKxS9GrAP981XIS0vKeRESNAsYTmDgfnS8ob0Owy7FEJuL5s2lPW_7N73vqHYsfZUqWIA4GJMfQmgZf0L-SW_laN_SzSwyIYSlv1GO2dxMJYdBIulNu3h96b Text: Availability: 1 Value: <anid>AN0188947211;[64yk]01mar.25;2025Oct31.06:03;v2.2.500</anid> <title id="AN0188947211-1">Learning to Connect with Students by Connecting with Self </title> <p>Drawing inspiration from Parker Palmer and John Dewey, this essay explores the author's journey of learning to connect with his ninth-grade students in a summer study skills class. Using the metaphor of an "undercarriage," the author reflects on how he strengthened his capacity to endure classroom challenges. Through experimentation with new approaches, the author discovers a "third way" between rigid control and passive acceptance, ultimately reframing his teaching identity. The author concludes that such identity work cannot be achieved in isolation but requires the support of colleagues, particularly in times of struggle. The author's experience offers insights into the challenges educators may face when striving to create more authentic and effective learning environments.</p> <p>While cleaning my classroom at the end of the summer, I found a paper ball tucked beneath one of the bookshelves—it reminded me how far my students and I had come together during our five-week study skills course. It had likely been there since the first week when student disengagement could be measured in the number of papers littering the floor as class ended. I ended that week unsure how I would manage the next four weeks.</p> <p>In hindsight, I should have known I would be tested, just like every teacher is. However, I thought students at this school—a high school that counted two US presidents as alumni—were more serious. Or maybe I believed that the knowledge I had to share was so valuable that they would feel no need to test boundaries with me. I thought, <emph>They should feel fortunate to have me, who spent the last year studying the science of learning in graduate school, as their teacher</emph>.</p> <p>After teaching high school math and science full-time for seven years at five different schools, I burned out during the third year of the COVID-19 pandemic. I found myself chronically exhausted and with little patience for my students. Even my favorite lessons became a chore to teach.</p> <p>Nevertheless, here I was, just over a year later, back in the classroom teaching a study skills class for a Northeastern boarding school's Ninth Grade Academy summer program. The program attracted a diverse group of students from across the United States and the world. Some enrolled to gain every possible advantage for their freshman year of high school. For others, parents had concerns about their readiness to make the transition.</p> <p>This unique context became the catalyst for an unexpected journey of professional and personal growth. While adapting my practice to these new circumstances, I found myself returning to the wisdom of educational theorists John Dewey and Parker Palmer. Their insights became guideposts in my evolving understanding of teaching and learning. On one level, this essay explores how my instructional approach became more student-centered in response to classroom dynamics. More fundamentally, it examines how, with the support of my colleagues, I developed a more authentic teaching identity by strengthening what Luke ([<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref1">3</reflink>]) termed my "undercarriage"—my capacity to endure and navigate challenges.</p> <hd id="AN0188947211-2">The Day Things Fell Apart</hd> <p>As I walked to my classroom on Friday afternoon at the end of our first week, I hoped today's lesson on planning and prioritizing would finally resonate with my students. My optimism evaporated as soon as I unlocked the door. Students were already inside, milling around, drawing on whiteboards, and had moved desks from where they had been strategically placed. When I asked how they got in, Hannah, one of my more assertive students, claimed the door was unlocked. This was not true—I had just unlocked it. Then I noticed the door connecting to the empty classroom next door was ajar.</p> <p>I took a deep breath and told students to take their seats so I could start class. I asked Tom to erase the front whiteboard—his name was emblazoned in large letters.</p> <p>"I didn't write that," he protested.</p> <p>"But it's your name," I rebutted—at least I thought it was.</p> <p>I took attendance, paying attention to the students' photos to connect names to faces. I noticed something curious—Tom did not look like his photo but more like Caiden, and Caiden, for that matter, looked more like Tom. Not having the patience for nonsense, I asked, "Which of you is Tom, and which of you is Caiden?" They insisted on being who they said they were, and their classmates backed them up. With clear irritation in my voice, I retorted that I would just have to call the dean to sort this out. At that moment, Caiden stood up, picked up his name placard, and traded it with Tom's. I took momentary satisfaction in restoring order. However, the resolution was not lasting peace—the boundary lines between student and teacher had only been dug deeper, contrasting with the positive tone I hoped the class would maintain.</p> <p>Pushing aside my frustrations, I began the lesson by asking the students, "What's the difference between a goal and a task?"</p> <p>Hannah answered, "A goal is something you want to happen, and a task is something you just have to do."</p> <p>"So, tasks are the steps you take as you work toward your goal?" I asked.</p> <p>"Sure," she responded. Her voice was tinged with uncertainty, but I was too fixated on my intended direction to notice. I proceeded to explain that today we were going to learn how to break down large assignments into smaller, bite-size tasks.</p> <p>Knowing students had English papers due on Monday, I asked, "What steps could you take to break down an English paper?" Liam suggested brainstorming and writing a draft. Caiden suggested proofreading and editing. I wrote those ideas on the board and demonstrated how, over five days, I might take one day to brainstorm, three days to write a draft, and one day to edit. To my relief, the students were following along with the lesson.</p> <p>My optimism was short-lived. A few moments later, I noticed Billy, Caiden, and Jace wearing headphones. <emph>Is this lesson so dry that they need to tune me out?</emph> I asked myself. When I asked the students to remove them, they protested, informing me that headphones helped them focus. Out of expediency, I relented: "If you think they are helping you, you can keep them on for now."</p> <p>This prompted me to wrap up the lesson so students could move on to making their weekend plans. This involved writing each task they hoped to accomplish on Post-it notes, sorting them by day, and then transferring these tasks to their planning sheet.</p> <p>Almost immediately, Hannah announced she had finished. Her planning sheet was predictably sparse: "math homework" for Saturday, "English paper" for Sunday.</p> <p>"Can you break down those assignments a bit like the example on the board?" I asked.</p> <p>"There's nothing to break down," Hannah retorted. "I'll keep working until the assignments are finished."</p> <p>I did not know what to say; her resistance made any encouragement I could give seem futile. So I moved along.</p> <p>Caiden, Billy, and Jace—headphones on—were entirely checked out. I scolded myself for allowing them to keep them on earlier. "What have you written down so far?" I asked, sounding more accusatory than I had intended.</p> <p>"Why do I need to write down anything?" Jace asked. "I know what I have to do."</p> <p>"But what steps are you going to take?"</p> <p>"Don't you think I know how to write a paper?" he snapped.</p> <p>I stood there, grateful that the hour was mercifully ending. I wrapped up the class, imploring students to come back on Monday ready to discuss how well their plans worked. As students were leaving, I noticed crumpled Post-its littering the floor. I asked Jace if he could help pick them up; he picked up a few but complained that he did not throw them. Meanwhile, I asked myself, <emph>What does it say about me that students could throw papers, and I did not even notice?</emph></p> <hd id="AN0188947211-3">The Child and the Curriculum</hd> <p>Over dinner, I recounted this class period to one of my colleagues, a teacher assistant for the speech and debate class. I explained my frustrations—how students snuck into the classroom, lied about their names, and put forth so little effort. Then I asked, almost rhetorically, "Can you believe they would act this way?" expecting him to share my outrage.</p> <p>He smiled, then noted, "It sounds like they were acting like ninth-graders."</p> <p>Reflexively, I insisted, "But they should not act that way."</p> <p>"You have to let the students know your expectations," he suggested.</p> <p> <emph>Does he think I have not gone through expectations?</emph> I thought. <emph>The expectations are posted in the back of the room. Maybe if my class only had six students and had a teaching assistant like his, I would not be experiencing such difficulties</emph>.</p> <p>Then, as if offering an afterthought, my colleague said, "Ninth-graders can be challenging. The instructor had to conference with one yesterday about his behavior." His admission was unexpectedly reassuring. By acknowledging that even his class faced challenges with students in this grade, I found myself more willing to consider his perspective. This moment of transparency led to an important insight: meaningful learning and growth cannot happen from a place of defensiveness.</p> <p>When I later reflected on this conversation, I noticed how it echoed the age-old educational debate between the child and the curriculum. I took the side of the curriculum—which, to Dewey ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref2">2</reflink>]), meant "ignor[ing] and minimiz[ing] the child's individual peculiarities, whims, and experiences" (<reflink idref="bib8" id="ref3">8</reflink>). I thought of my students' peculiarities and whims as impediments to the curriculum, minimizing the benefit they could derive from my class. In contrast, my colleague was sympathetic to the students as they were, calling on me to meet them there.</p> <p>This debate, however, was not merely academic—it struck at the core of my teaching identity. If what my colleague said about my students acting like typical ninth-graders was true, and these behaviors caused such angst, something about my approach toward my students needed to change—otherwise, I probably no longer belonged in the classroom.</p> <p>That evening, I turned to Palmer's <emph>The Courage to Teach</emph>, a book I first read as a preservice teacher. It has remained on my bookshelf because of its reminder that "teaching holds a mirror to my soul" (Palmer [<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref4">4</reflink>], 3). When my classroom feels out of control, Palmer reminds me to look inside myself, as something inside me may need attention. In light of the conversation with my colleague, the following passage particularly resonated:</p> <p>After thirty years of teaching, my own fear remains close at hand. It is there when I enter a classroom and feel the undertow into which I have jumped. It is there when I ask a question—and my students keep a silence as stony as if I had asked them to betray their friends. It is there whenever it feels as if I have lost control: a mind-boggling question is asked, an irrational conflict emerges, or students get lost in my lecture because I am lost. When a class that has gone badly comes to a merciful end, I am fearful long after it is over—fearful that I am not just a bad teacher but a bad person, so closely is my sense of self tied to the work I do.</p> <p>(Palmer [<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref5">4</reflink>], 37)</p> <p>The image of the undertow—of being swept up by currents fomenting below the water's surface—felt fitting. I resolved to calm the turbulent waters by working harder on my lessons.</p> <p>I had yet to learn that meaningful change would not occur until I could acknowledge how my own behaviors in the classroom unwittingly contributed to that dynamic.</p> <hd id="AN0188947211-4">It's Not Just About What the Research Says</hd> <p>I began Monday's lesson with a PowerPoint animation of a bear chasing a man across the screen. It had taken me an hour to get it just right.</p> <p>"Would you be motivated to run if you were being chased by a bear?" I asked the class. They nodded in agreement.</p> <p>"Would you keep running if the bear disappeared?" I continued.</p> <p>As if on cue, Billy responded, "Probably not."</p> <p> <emph>So far, so good</emph>, I thought to myself.</p> <p>I then told the students that people are often motivated by negative consequences. This type of motivation is short-lived, though; once the threat, like the bear, goes away, motivation is lost. Expecting to blow my students' minds with a quick turn of phrase, I said, "Lasting motivation, however, lies in figuring out what you are running toward."</p> <p>I was met with silence. Far from being mind-blown, the students seemed unimpressed.</p> <p>So I proceeded to ask, "Is it more motivating to work hard to earn an 'A' or to avoid punishment from your parents?"</p> <p>Again, silence. Hannah's hand shot into the air, so I called on her. She said that she found my distinction confusing because, in her mind, approaching one thing was the same as avoiding something else. "I work hard to earn good grades and to avoid getting into trouble with my parents," she explained.</p> <p>I thought that Hannah had misunderstood me; she certainly had not read the academic articles I had. So, I asked, "Is it more motivating to think about the trouble you will get into for not doing your homework or the benefits of doing it?"</p> <p>"The trouble I get into for not doing it is usually what motivates me."</p> <p>"Well, the research says that focusing more attention on how a task brings you closer to your goals results in more motivation."</p> <p>"I don't care what the research says. The difference just does not make sense. That's all." I was taken aback by how calmly Hannah said this.</p> <p>"Thank you for your perspective" was all I managed to say, followed by, "Does anyone else have any thoughts on this?" The class remained silent. The energy Hannah had shown just moments ago evaporated. She disengaged for the rest of the period.</p> <p>After class, I reflected on my interaction with Hannah. I had stood my ground, committed as I was to "objective facts." <emph>Facts do not change just because one disagrees with them</emph>, I reassured myself. However, reflecting on Hannah's words more practically, I had to admit that even my motivation to finish school assignments or lesson plans often comes from avoiding missed deadlines or other adverse consequences, not necessarily because I see the task tied to some higher purpose. From this perspective, I could see why my lesson did not resonate with Hannah, and in doubling down, I implicitly or explicitly told her she was wrong. Of course she disengaged.</p> <p>Palmer described this tendency to privilege theory over personal experience as "objectivism"—a way of knowing that relies on "disconnecting ourselves, physically and emotionally, from the thing we want to know" ([<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref6">4</reflink>], 52). From this perspective, student experiences are not objective but, instead, a Pandora's box of ignorance, opinion, and bias. By using "facts" to establish my authority or remain "objective," I proactively detached from students' lived experiences, creating an emotional distance that reduced my vulnerability.</p> <p>As we approached the midpoint of our five-week course, I could not ignore the growing stagnation in the classroom—likely a consequence of my "objective" approach. I distributed a midterm survey at the beginning of the third week—a practice of good teachers—although, in hindsight, I doubt I genuinely wanted honest student feedback. By Wednesday, despite in-class and electronic reminders, only one student had completed the survey. Given the level of disengagement I had observed, I had thought the ninth-graders would appreciate an opportunity to express their thoughts. My initial confusion soon turned into frustration. Couldn't they see how hard I had worked on their behalf?</p> <p>The only student who filled out the survey was Coral, who often worked on her math homework during our lessons. She rated both the class and my teaching as 2 out of 5. <emph>Maybe if you actually followed along in class, you would find that it had some value</emph>, I thought defensively. Seeking validation, I looked up her midterm grades, expecting that she had been equally disengaged in her math and English classes. To my chagrin, she was earning top marks in both—revealing just how little I knew about her. Perhaps Hannah was not the only student whose insights I had inadvertently dismissed. If students perceived me as dismissive of their thoughts, it would explain their reluctance to complete the survey.</p> <p>A sinking sensation settled in my stomach—the feeling that arises when I confront an uncomfortable truth about myself. The dinner conversation with my colleague at the end of the first week came to mind. Maybe he was right. Connecting with my students' "peculiarities" and "whims" (Dewey [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref7">2</reflink>], 8)—the attributes that I had been trying to snuff out—might in fact be necessary to support my students effectively. <emph>Where do I go from here?</emph> I wondered. <emph>Can this dynamic be fixed?</emph></p> <hd id="AN0188947211-5">The Third Way</hd> <p>According to Dewey, "Any significant problem involves conditions that, for the moment, contradict each other. Solution comes only by getting away from the meaning of terms that is already fixed upon and coming to see the conditions from another point of view, and hence in a fresh light" ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref8">2</reflink>], 3–4). To help me see my classroom challenges "in a fresh light," I turned to the wisdom of my colleagues. During the second week, I shared my classroom struggles with the academic dean over lunch. He empathized and compared teaching a lesson to playing a computer chess game. In the latter, when one deviates too far from the game plan or the game does not unfold as one would have expected, one can close out and start over. However, no such option is available during an off-track lesson; this is when teaching is the most difficult. As we finished our lunches, he challenged me to consider how I respond when things seem to be falling apart.</p> <p> <emph>What do I do when things fall apart?</emph> I asked myself. My initial reaction is to try to bring the class back on track as expediently as possible. Sometimes, there is another activity to which we can easily transition. Other times, I find myself getting louder, bullheadedly pursuing my desired outcome—like I did when I threatened to call the dean on Tom and Caiden. Sometimes it is tempting to capitulate, like I did when I failed to take a firm stance on students' headphones even though I knew they would become a problem later. In both cases, whether being bullheaded or capitulating, I sought to alleviate the tension I was experiencing, at least temporarily, at the expense of potentially undermining the classroom dynamic I desired.</p> <p>According to Palmer, in the face of classroom difficulties, there is a third way: to endure. Palmer used the term "suffering" to describe the endurance teachers must practice as they navigate seemingly intractable classroom dynamics. Initially, I found this term too stark, feeling it minimized more severe forms of human suffering. However, Luke's ([<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref9">3</reflink>]) explanation of the word's etymology provided valuable context. "Suffering" originated from the Latin word <emph>sufferre</emph>, meaning "to bear under." This image resonated with me: a teacher as an "undercarriage" (<reflink idref="bib107" id="ref10">107</reflink>), supporting the weight of the classroom.</p> <p>Just as a weak undercarriage cannot sustain even the lightest load, a teacher unprepared to endure in times of struggle will be crushed by even the mildest challenge. Conversely, with proper support and strength, the heaviest of loads can be borne, allowing for movement and growth through difficult terrain.</p> <p>As I grappled with this image of endurance, I realized I needed to see it in action. I began to look for examples of teachers who embodied this capacity to "bear under" the challenges of the classroom. This led me to Mr. Matthews, my students' English teacher.</p> <p>As the lead house counselor for the boys in my class, he managed challenging student dynamics with compassion, not letting students' poor choices visibly upset him. Intrigued by his approach, I wanted to observe his interactions with students firsthand, hoping to emulate them in my classroom. He graciously invited me to come into his first-hour section the next morning. When I arrived, students were seated around a large round table. I received a warm welcome from Hannah. Caiden, Tom, and Jace arrived one after the other, approximately 15 minutes late—any negative feelings he may have harbored toward their tardiness were not visible.</p> <p>The class was reading Achebe's ([<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref11">1</reflink>]) <emph>Things Fall Apart</emph>—a fitting title for how I felt things had been going in my classroom. It was a story of the Igbo people in modern-day Nigeria, whose livelihoods had been disrupted by European colonialism. The class discussion centered on the Oracle's instructions that protagonist Okonkwo's adopted son, Ikemefuna, be killed to exact retribution for a murder committed by one of Ikemefuna's former tribesmen. Although village elder Ezeudu warned Okonkwo not to lay a hand on Ikemefuna because of his role as a father figure, Okonkwo slew him with his machete to avoid looking weak in front of his fellow tribesmen.</p> <p>Hannah initiated the discussion by asking, "There is so much focus on Okonkwo's decision to strike down Ikemefuna for fear of looking weak, but by going along with the Umuofia men's plan, Ikemefuna's fate was sealed. Why is that decision not questioned?"</p> <p>A student whose book was fringed with page tabs responded, "When the Oracle calls for someone to be killed, the tribe has no choice. On page 125, it says, 'And if the clan did not exact punishment for an offense against the great goddess, her wrath was loosed on all the land and not just the offender.'"</p> <p>Hannah replied, "If I loved someone as my son, I would not care what my tribe said."</p> <p>Mr. Matthews guided the discussion, saying, "Hannah's concerns raise two points. On the one hand, we have to grapple with the character of Okonkwo and how he viewed his role as a man and father. On the other hand, we must grapple with how adherence to cultural tradition can sometimes look reprehensible to a cultural outsider."</p> <p>Caiden raised his hand to offer an insight: "Maybe the author is trying to tell us that it is just too simplistic to look at any one culture or person as simply good or bad. It's a lot more complicated than that."</p> <p>I was impressed by the level of discourse that Mr. Matthews could draw out of these students. He made space for Hannah and her peers to express their opinions honestly and openly. Watching my students engage deeply with the material, I realized how much potential I had overlooked.</p> <p>As the discussion was winding down, Mr. Matthews opened the floor for any last thoughts or questions. Jace, who had not yet participated in the discussion, raised his hand. When Mr. Matthews called on him, he asked, "Can we talk about the circumcision?"</p> <p>Mr. Matthews initially looked confused. Then he asked Jace for a page number. He started paging through his book. A few moments later, the classmate with the meticulously annotated book said, "I think it is on page 77."</p> <p>Mr. Matthews asked Jace to read the relevant paragraph for the class. As he read, he emphasized the word "circumcised."</p> <p>Ekwefi [one of Okonkwo's three wives] did as she was asked. As soon as she became pregnant, she went to live with her old mother in another village. It was there that her third child was born and circumcised on the eighth day.</p> <p>(Achebe [<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref12">1</reflink>], 77)</p> <p>Mr. Matthews asked, "So what is your question?"</p> <p>Jace replied, "I was just wondering, what is circumcision?"</p> <p>I assumed Jace was hoping to get a rise out of his classmates. I was curious how Mr. Matthews would respond.</p> <p>"Circumcision is when the foreskin around the penis is removed. It usually happens soon after birth."</p> <p>Mr. Matthews's response was factual, respectful, and seemed to satisfy Jace. Reflecting on this interaction, I realized I likely would have reprimanded Jace for taking us off topic, assuming mal-intent. Like Okonkwo's decision to slay Ikemefuna, I recognized how often my management decisions stemmed from a fear of looking weak. In contrast, by preserving Jace's dignity, Mr. Matthews demonstrated true strength—a quality for which his students clearly respected him.</p> <p>After class, I followed up with Mr. Matthews, commending him for how he respectfully managed the students while holding them accountable to high standards. When I asked about Jace's question, Mr. Matthews speculated that he was probably messing around—likely put up to it by his peers. However, part of teaching is working with whatever students throw at you and doing your best with it. He admitted that he does not always handle situations perfectly, emphasizing that teachers need to give themselves grace in such moments.</p> <p>My observation of Mr. Matthews's class reinforced a crucial lesson: Trying to prevent all problems through careful planning—as I had tried to do throughout my teaching career—was naive. Instead, I needed to strengthen my undercarriage so I could better navigate challenges as they arose. Palmer provided a word of assurance on how I might do so: "As a young teacher, I yearned for the day when I would know my craft so well, be so competent, so experienced, and so powerful that I could walk into any classroom without feeling afraid. But now, in my late fifties, I know that day will never come. I will always have fears, but I need not be my fears—there are other places in my inner landscape from which I can speak and act" ([<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref13">4</reflink>], 58).</p> <p>According to Palmer, harboring such fears is a common and valid experience for teachers. However, they need not dictate how I respond to my students. With this in mind, I set out to implement small but significant changes in my teaching methods.</p> <p>When students do not engage, teachers are often too quick to fill the silence with their own speech, assuming something went wrong. Palmer assures readers, however, that student voices will emerge when we step back and embrace the tension that comes with silence.</p> <p>Although skeptical, halfway through our next lesson, I intentionally paused when my question about students' preferred learning styles was met with silence. Although the pause was no more than 10 seconds, each passing second felt significantly longer. I could feel tension building in my chest, screaming at me to break the silence—but I steadfastly held back. To my immense relief, Caiden eventually raised his hand. His response that he was more of a visual learner spurred others to share. As a class, most students aligned with the auditory—several listened to books on tape—and visual learning preferences. They identified least with the reading and writing styles. When I later reflected upon this class period, I realized that this conversation would have been subverted had I not stopped talking long enough to give students a chance to speak.</p> <p>The following Monday, I faced another situation that called for my evolving approach. After class, I noticed drawings on Coral's desk, including the name of the student who sat next to her, Ginni. Initially, I thought it would be easiest just to clean it off myself—it would only take a minute—and hope it did not happen again. But I was also keenly aware of how ineffectively ignoring and wishing had worked in the past, so I sent a message to both students.</p> <p>Part of me naively expected Ginni and Coral to confess and diligently return to clean off the desk. That did not happen: Both claimed the drawings were already there when they arrived. A familiar tension began to fill my chest—a tension that, in the past, I likely would have dealt with by calling the students out as liars. But then I caught myself—I remembered what Palmer said about such behaviors closing off dialogue, the opposite of what I hoped to accomplish.</p> <p>Instead, I asked why they did not report these drawings to me. They responded that they did not think of doing so. I told them that I would clean the drawings off the desk that day, but from now on, if I see drawings on their desks, they will be responsible for cleaning them. They agreed that this seemed reasonable. I had no other issues with students drawing on desks for the rest of the summer.</p> <p>These experiences with wait time and the desk drawings reflected a third way between rigid authority and passive acceptance. Developing my capacity to endure discomfort—to strengthen my undercarriage—allowed me to see these classroom dynamics in a "fresh light" (Dewey [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref14">2</reflink>], 4) and create space for students' voices to emerge.</p> <hd id="AN0188947211-6">Authentic Teaching and Learning</hd> <p>According to Palmer, "Authority is granted to people who are perceived as authoring their own words, their own actions, their own lives, rather than playing a scripted role at great remove from their own hearts" ([<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref15">4</reflink>], 34). This insight led me to reflect on how I often implemented practices intended to check the boxes of what I thought good teachers should do rather than what was authentic to me. I lectured daily, emulating my favorite teachers who were gifted at drawing classes into their tightly woven narratives. However, this mode of teaching did not come naturally, particularly with my ninth-graders.</p> <p>One evening during the fourth week of class, I lamented to my lead house counselor how futile it felt to be creating my slides for the next day's class. I told him that no matter how engaging I made the lesson, motivating them to pay attention would be an uphill battle.</p> <p>"So why do you do it?" he asked.</p> <p>"Because I have to," I replied, wondering if I heard him right. <emph>Part of my obligation to my students</emph>, I thought, <emph>is to deliver strategies for improving their study routines whether or not they accept them</emph>.</p> <p>I told my colleague about the increasing number of students who pull out their homework during my class. "In fact," I declared incredulously, "today, Jace had the audacity to read his book for English class during my lesson despite repeated reminders to pay attention."</p> <p>"You teach study skills, right?" he asked.</p> <p>I nodded.</p> <p>"It sounds like you would support their study habits better if you actually gave them time to study—perhaps you could make the classroom like a study oasis."</p> <p>"But wouldn't that be like giving up?"</p> <p>"No. It's giving students what they need."</p> <p>I thought I had been. In all my past teaching assignments, students even seemed to <emph>like</emph> lecture and notes days. Maybe I was wrong. According to Dewey: "Familiarity breeds contempt, but it also breeds something like affection. We get used to the chains we wear, and we miss them when removed.... Unpleasant, because meaningless, activities may get agreeable if long enough persisted in. It is possible for the mind to develop interest in a routine or mechanical procedure if conditions are continually supplied which demand that mode of operation and preclude any other sort" ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref16">2</reflink>], 27–8).</p> <p>I looked over the agenda for the last seven days of class. Perhaps I could better support students' writing skills by giving them time to work on their English essays in class. Likewise, I might better support their note-taking skills by encouraging them to look over their math notes with each other instead of putting them through yet another drill.</p> <p>I was embarking on what Palmer called a "subject-centered classroom" ([<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref17">4</reflink>], 120). In this type of space, the students and teacher are jointly focused on the subject of study. Although initially uncertain about its effectiveness, by approaching the next day's writing lesson in this manner, I discovered that I had greater flexibility to pivot as students' needs required. For example, several students' difficulties in drafting an effective thesis statement stemmed not from the writing task itself but their insufficient exploration of the text's key plot points. Therefore, I demonstrated my process for mapping connections between events and quotes to these students, something I would not have done had I planned a more traditional lecture and activity. Accordingly, in a subject-centered classroom, my identity as an educator shifted from primarily creating and delivering content to facilitating students' deeper exploration of their subject with relevant resources.</p> <p>This approach allowed me to listen to and address personal concerns more effectively, like the stress Ginni was feeling about her math test and Jace's difficulties in staying focused in his classes. This time, when I suggested to Jace that he keep his earbuds out while I give directions, he complied, and they did not become an issue for the rest of the summer.</p> <p>This approach also revealed that students often had more insights into each other's challenges than I did. For example, peer recommendations about managing cell phone use while studying carried more weight than my own.</p> <p>On the last day of class, I invited students to share the strategies they had implemented throughout the summer. What I had planned as a 20-minute discussion stretched to fill the entire hour. Students enthusiastically shared how they had learned to put their phones away earlier before bed, use the Pomodoro technique for focused study intervals, and experiment with various note-taking methods. The energy in the room was palpable as students engaged—an outcome I could not have envisioned at the end of our first week together. This vibrant discussion reflected my new understanding of my students and myself—Dewey's "fresh light" ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref18">2</reflink>], 4)—which helped me move beyond the dichotomy of rigid control and passive acceptance.</p> <hd id="AN0188947211-7">A Classroom Renewed</hd> <p>My class had come a long way since the first week when the floor was littered with paper balls. By learning to see my teaching practice and my students in a "fresh light" (Dewey [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref19">2</reflink>], 4), I was able to transcend the transactional mindset that had previously defined my approach. That approach, which treats best practices as boxes to be checked, would lead to resentment when efforts go unappreciated. It falsely promises that through diligence alone, I could avoid overlooking students like Coral or prevent boundary-pushing from students like Caiden and Tom.</p> <p>With a stronger "undercarriage" (Luke [<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref20">3</reflink>], 107), supported by my colleagues, I became better equipped to accept the challenges associated with students being on their own developmental journeys and to acknowledge my own imperfections. This enhanced capacity was essential for implementing a subject-centered approach, allowing me to more flexibly guide students' learning. Furthermore, a more resilient inner self allowed me to better connect with students, making me less prone to reactive decisions driven by fear—unlike Okonkwo in Achebe's ([<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref21">1</reflink>]) <emph>Things Fall Apart</emph>. Through this approach, I discovered I could maintain authority while fostering the positive classroom environment I sought.</p> <p>I wish I could say that I no longer get upset when lessons do not go as I would have hoped or that I no longer get in my own way. However, I am now more aware of my tendencies, and as Mr. Matthews had advised, it is critical I give myself grace.</p> <p>I see now that I am still on a journey, learning both about behaviors that allow me to connect with my students and harness the courage to be vulnerable. This journey represents the third way I discovered between rigid control and passive acceptance—a path of flexible responsiveness grounded in a strong sense of self. As I continue teaching, I find myself relying more on my community of practice, having realized that effective teaching, particularly in times of struggle, cannot be done alone.</p> <ref id="AN0188947211-8"> <title> Bibliography </title> <blist> <bibl id="bib1" idref="ref11" type="bt">1</bibl> <bibtext> Achebe, Chinua. (1959) 2017. Things Fall Apart. New York: Penguin.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibl id="bib2" idref="ref2" type="bt">2</bibl> <bibtext> Dewey, John. (1902) 2009. The Child and the Curriculum. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. https://<ulink href="http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/29259/pg29259-images.html">www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/29259/pg29259-images.html</ulink>.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibl id="bib3" idref="ref1" type="bt">3</bibl> <bibtext> Luke, Helen M. (1987) 2010. "Suffering." In Old Age: Journey into Simplicity, ed. Helen M. Luke. San Mateo, CA: Steiner Books.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibl id="bib4" idref="ref4" type="bt">4</bibl> <bibtext> Palmer, Parker J. (1998) 2007. The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life. 10th anniversary ed. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.</bibtext> </blist> </ref> <aug> <p>By John Burrell</p> <p>Reported by Author</p> </aug> <nolink nlid="nl1" bibid="bib8" firstref="ref3"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl2" bibid="bib107" firstref="ref10"></nolink> |
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| Items | – Name: Title Label: Title Group: Ti Data: Learning to Connect with Students by Connecting with Self – Name: Language Label: Language Group: Lang Data: English – Name: Author Label: Authors Group: Au Data: <searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22John+Burrell%22">John Burrell</searchLink> – Name: TitleSource Label: Source Group: Src Data: <searchLink fieldCode="SO" term="%22Schools%3A+Studies+in+Education%22"><i>Schools: Studies in Education</i></searchLink>. 2025 22(1):144-158. – Name: Avail Label: Availability Group: Avail Data: University of Chicago Press. Journals Division, P.O. Box 37005, Chicago, IL 60637. Tel: 877-705-1878; Tel: 773-753-3347; Fax: 877-705-1879; Fax: 773-753-0811; e-mail: subscriptions@press.uchicago.edu; Web site: http://www.press.uchicago.edu – Name: PeerReviewed Label: Peer Reviewed Group: SrcInfo Data: Y – Name: Pages Label: Page Count Group: Src Data: 15 – Name: DatePubCY Label: Publication Date Group: Date Data: 2025 – Name: TypeDocument Label: Document Type Group: TypDoc Data: Journal Articles<br />Reports - Descriptive – Name: Audience Label: Education Level Group: Audnce Data: <searchLink fieldCode="EL" term="%22Grade+9%22">Grade 9</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="EL" term="%22High+Schools%22">High Schools</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="EL" term="%22Junior+High+Schools%22">Junior High Schools</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="EL" term="%22Middle+Schools%22">Middle Schools</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="EL" term="%22Secondary+Education%22">Secondary Education</searchLink> – Name: Subject Label: Descriptors Group: Su Data: <searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Teacher+Student+Relationship%22">Teacher Student Relationship</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Grade+9%22">Grade 9</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Summer+Programs%22">Summer Programs</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Study+Skills%22">Study Skills</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Teaching+Methods%22">Teaching Methods</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Professional+Identity%22">Professional Identity</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Barriers%22">Barriers</searchLink> – Name: DOI Label: DOI Group: ID Data: 10.1086/734964 – Name: ISSN Label: ISSN Group: ISSN Data: 1550-1175<br />2153-0327 – Name: Abstract Label: Abstract Group: Ab Data: Drawing inspiration from Parker Palmer and John Dewey, this essay explores the author's journey of learning to connect with his ninth-grade students in a summer study skills class. Using the metaphor of an "undercarriage," the author reflects on how he strengthened his capacity to endure classroom challenges. Through experimentation with new approaches, the author discovers a "third way" between rigid control and passive acceptance, ultimately reframing his teaching identity. The author concludes that such identity work cannot be achieved in isolation but requires the support of colleagues, particularly in times of struggle. The author's experience offers insights into the challenges educators may face when striving to create more authentic and effective learning environments. – Name: AbstractInfo Label: Abstractor Group: Ab Data: As Provided – Name: DateEntry Label: Entry Date Group: Date Data: 2025 – Name: AN Label: Accession Number Group: ID Data: EJ1475632 |
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| RecordInfo | BibRecord: BibEntity: Identifiers: – Type: doi Value: 10.1086/734964 Languages: – Text: English PhysicalDescription: Pagination: PageCount: 15 StartPage: 144 Subjects: – SubjectFull: Teacher Student Relationship Type: general – SubjectFull: Grade 9 Type: general – SubjectFull: Summer Programs Type: general – SubjectFull: Study Skills Type: general – SubjectFull: Teaching Methods Type: general – SubjectFull: Professional Identity Type: general – SubjectFull: Barriers Type: general Titles: – TitleFull: Learning to Connect with Students by Connecting with Self Type: main BibRelationships: HasContributorRelationships: – PersonEntity: Name: NameFull: John Burrell IsPartOfRelationships: – BibEntity: Dates: – D: 01 M: 01 Type: published Y: 2025 Identifiers: – Type: issn-print Value: 1550-1175 – Type: issn-electronic Value: 2153-0327 Numbering: – Type: volume Value: 22 – Type: issue Value: 1 Titles: – TitleFull: Schools: Studies in Education Type: main |
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